


Reminisce

by InudaTheFox



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), BUT ITS DIFFERENT I PROMISE, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), C!PHIL STILL SUCKS AT RAISING KIDS SMH, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fuck Dream All My Homies Hate Dream, Galar-chihou | Galar Region (Pokemon), Gen, Happy TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), IF YOU THINK I WOULD PUT TOMMY IN LITERALLY ANY PKMN WORLD, Its not too many ocs but they kinda important for now, Legendary Pokemon, Lmao dont see that tag everyday f, MY BOY IS GETTING THERAPY IM SO HAPPY FOR HIM, OTHER THAN SWORD AND SHIELD, Original Character(s), Other, Pokemon, Pokemon AU, Pokemon Battles, Pokemon Center, Pokemon Journey, Pokemon Nicknames, Pokemon Sword & Shield Spoilers, Pokemon Trainer!Tommyinnit, Pokemon Trainers, Pokemon Training, TOMMY GETS A FUCKING FASHION SENSE YALL AAAAA, Tommy gets a family and theyre all PINK, Tommy has shulker boxes that Deo gave him but its only 2 I promise, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), YOU'RE FUCKING C R A Z Y, don't attack the original content creators this is only a story and is about their roleplay selves, idc if im doing the DLCs but i kinda want to hhhhh, no beta we die like l'manburg, not their actual selves guys i shouldnt have to say this, the first part of the chapter is pretty much the same format as my other story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InudaTheFox/pseuds/InudaTheFox
Summary: Reminisce - verbTo indulge in enjoyable recollection of past events. To recollect and remember.---Left to stir in the memories of a life that once was, Tommyinnit bellows to the heavens that he wants to be free from exile.Free from the memories.Free from the pain.Free from the overwhelming hatred.The heavens open their gates, and for the first time, his calls are answered.---Or: Tommy is sick and tired of the SMP and all their bullshit, and decides to grab his shit that Deo got him and leave. Along the way, he remembers a special, ancient portal he can make, and searches for the specific item to activate it. But surprise surprise, it isn’t that easy, and he’s chased to the place that never held. And now, thanks to the portal, he’s in the Pokemon Region of Galar with only this weird yellow rodent as company.The issue? He can’t remember names or faces for shit now.Well fuck him, I guess.
Relationships: Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit
Comments: 98
Kudos: 433





	1. Falling Inside The Black

Title from Skillet's "Falling in the Black"!

-

L’Manburg was  _ gone. _

It was gone- blown to  _ fucking smithereens- _ and all that was left were it’s people who could only pick up the pieces and try to start anew.

_ “Start anew” _ being key, because Tommy wasn’t there with them.

No, they didn’t  _ need _ Tommy.

They maybe began the nation with him as one of the most important members, but he’s just a bad reminder now- the war, the presidency, the death, exile, Schlatt,  _ Wilbur.  _ He’s redundant, a figure of chaos and death, of the worst times this country has ever faced, and they want him  _ gone. _

_ And a part of himself can’t blame them- he’d want him gone too… _

So maybe that’s why Tubbo ( _ Tubbo. Sweet, kind, innocent little  _ **_Tubbo._ ** _ He still can’t believe it,  _ **_his_ ** _ Tubbo… hornsareshowingsclattisbeingremadewhydon’tthey _ **_seeit?!_ ** ) banished him without a thought, without even  _ trying _ to figure out more on the burning and looting of George’s cottage.

_ “We don’t need a loose cannon, Tommy” _ echoes in his ears like a mantra being called by thousands, second after second, day after day.

The next morning, a small white, walk-in tent is pitched in the middle of the plains beside a wide ocean, and apply renamed “Logstedshire” by none other than Ghostbur- his  _ dead _ older brother.

_ God that thought hurts. _

Tommy thought being in exile was hard before, but at least in the end, he had Wilbur as company. Crazy, insane, maniacal company, but company. And even  _ then, _ He got to see Technoblade, his  _ other _ older brother, and even Tubbo (not Phil,  _ never _ Phil) from time to time when he wasn’t working on the festival. There was  _ companionship _ in exile, even when there wasn’t supposed to be.

But now? He has  _ nothing. _

No best friend, no brother (if you count a war criminal as a brother), and  _ certainly _ no  _ father. _

(Internally, the teen is aptly reminded on  _ who _ was the favored child, on  _ who _ Phil spent all his time with, on  _ who _ was the  _ prodigy. _ And in every answer, it was  _ never _ him. Not Tommy,  _ never Tommy. _ )

All that was left was Dream- Dream and his stupid fucking mask that just stared  _ mockingly _ at the boy before he even opened his inadequate fucking mouth to garner an insult. Dream who is the reason he’s out here  _ in the first place. _ Dream who has  _ power _ over him.

And Dream is all he has left, and Tommy  _ despises _ that.

What’s worse is that he knows he can’t leave the server, because once your gone, all contact is cut.

In the Green Man’s words, “You don’t need friends from  _ outside”. _

The fact that also applied to Tommy  _ burned _ at his chest like molten lava coursing through his veins, and it  _ sucked. _

What sucked more is when Dream came over, only to blow up or burn his stuff. “To repent” or something- hell if he knows, the days just blur together at this point, and so do any words he hears.

And his clothing are all ripped and  _ disgusting _ at this point- tears to and from, stains of brown and dark red coating the material, and deep scars gorged on his skin in a gruesome, golden locks greasy and too long for him to handle (though, at least they hide some of the scars). He feels like a fucking  _ hobo- _ which, he… technically kinda is- and the fact that he left L’Manberg with Wilbur’s coat  _ probably _ doesn’t help his image much.

But… maybe it’s time to stop caring.

Be it family, friend or foe- they weren’t exactly being  _ subtle _ with what they were saying.

Or, rather, what they  _ weren’t. _

Resentment swells in his chest as he’s reminded of  _ everyone _ he fought for, only to swept away to the side like he’s nothing when, in the end, he’s the only one representing L’Manburg’s ideals.

It’s  _ true _ ideals- not the ones that Wilbur, Schlatt or  _ Tubbo _ twisted in their presidency.

The will to stand up and  _ fight _ for what’s right.

The ability to stand beside those they he loves and fight another day, just to protect him.

The ability to  _ survive _ against the crushing winds of the world, when it’s just pressing down on you, inching you closer and closer to the ground as blood swells in your head.

_ That _ is what Tommyinnit- formerly Thomas Craftsons- represented.

_ He _ is the ideals of L’Manburg that were  _ supposed to stay! _

But Ender knows that where Hell burns bright, evil burns brighter.

And he’s done with it.

Absolutely  _ done. _

They want freedom? Well, they’ll just have to earn it without him. And if they ever need “Tommy-motherfucking-innit”, well that’s  _ too fucking bad now aint it? _

Scowling, he swipes his legs off of his bed, his uneven flooring digging into his hole ridden socks, and stands to his full height, swinging himself down the ladder into the mines, and pressing a hidden switch when he got halfway down. The wall to his left creaks open, and he slides his body through just in time for it to snap shut with a click.

Tommy admires the room- the vault.  _ His _ vault- and locks onto the ender chest in the corner.

A very  _ specific _ ender chest- one picked clean, thick gorges into it’s pretty green and teal casing, flickers of magic twisting around the ender eye clasp.

This box was gifted to him by TimeDeo, back when he still ran Business Bay in SMPEarth, and in it contained gear that Tommy has hidden to this fucking  _ day. _

It’s never seen the rays of daylight- not  _ once- _ and Tommy would  _ love _ for it to stay that way, he really would.

But he  _ can’t _ , not now.

He needs to get his shit and  _ go. _

So, he creaks open the dusty, gorged chest and rumbles through it, glancing at the inventory screen before him.

A shulker box, ten pearls, an iron sword, two brewing stands, a stack of dark oak logs, two potions of healing, a couple steak, half a stack of bread, a stack of coal, some iron ingots, two crafting tables, a handy flint and steel, two buckets of lava, two buckets of water, and a couple books with quills attached to them.

Not a  _ whole _ lot, but it’ll do for now.

It’ll get him through a couple of weeks, at least.

(Sometimes Tommy remembers how utterly  _ amazing _ Deo is, and prays to his best friend with shaking legs, thanking him for all he is and will ever be. Ender, if the bay wouldn’t be the first place the others would look, he would  _definitely_ run back there.)

(But he  _ can’t. _ He just… he just  **_can’t._ ** )

Pulling out one of the crafting tables, as well as some wood, he quickly crafts a boat, breaks his end chest, stuffs it in his inventory, and hauls himself over the ladder, and through the small break in the earth, popping out like a mole.

Eyes dart around his surroundings, gripping onto his stone sword and lips pulled into a taut frown, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.

Wind echoing in his ears, eyes flicker to the from, glancing back at the portal.

The blond spins on his heel and  _ bolts _ towards the shoreline, plopping his tiny, two-person boat on the low tide water. He pushes it so it’s  _ just _ far enough in the water no to leave tracks, and hops in, paddling away from his ho- no, no this wasn’t,  _ isn’t _ his home.

No, this was, and still is, a fucking  _ prison, _ and like  _ hell _ Tommy’s staying  _ anywhere near here _ any longer.

Yeah, no, fuck  _ that. _

\---

Four hours later, Tommy arrives to a small island just as the sky begins to light up in shades of pink, purple and orange, and shrinks his boat to sit at the bottom of one of the few trees on the isle.

He creates a flimsy torch and sets it on the dirt, leaning and stretching his sore muscles (being in a small, cramped boat will do that to ‘ya), pulling out a loaf of bread and biting into it, chewing at the fluffy, brown and white texture. The steak in his hand is bitten as well, and Tommy switches between biting and chewing into the two items, until they’re both gone and his hunger bar is full. From there, he pulls out his ender chest again and silently checks his shulker box contents, biting his lip nervously.

_ God _ does he feel nervous!

Inside the pastel purple box lies two more, one white and the other yellow, and he pulls them both out of the storage unit. He opens the white one first and narrows storm sapphire orbs at the grey inventory screen.

Enchanted tools- fishing rod, as well as a diamond axe and pickaxe-, flint and steel, a compass, a clock, seven ender eyes, blaze rods, glass bottles, a  _ lot _ of potion ingredients, a bunch of gold blocks, potatoes, gold apples, and cooked mutton.

The yellow chest, in contrast, carries enchanted iron armor (protection 3, mending, respiration, fire protection 2, and thorns), almost half a stack of enchanted golden apples, more steak, a enchanted trident and diamond sword, a stack of apples, half a stack of hay bales, more bread, cooked chicken, a  _ shit ton _ of ender pearls (if he wouldn’t be called a wuss for it, Tommy would probably hug and cry at Deo, the wonderful bastard), some oak logs, a stack of cobble, a bow, spectral arrows, regular arrows, a bed, coal blocks, more gold apples, a couple diamonds, and over a stack of coal.

He has enough items that he can, technically, survive  _ very _ far away from the smp, maybe tavel and live in a new server- or hell, an entirely new environment!

But his heart wants him to be even  _ farther. _

Somewhere far  _ far _ away, over the rolling hills and past the thick terrain of the jungle, where  _ no one _ will reach him.

Not even the famed Technoblade, or the forever traveling Philza.

**_Especially_ ** _ not Philza. _

He just… he just wants to be  _ free _ from war.

From being a fucking  _ child soldier. _

From the  **_abuse._ **

Is that so much to ask?

_ ‘Apparently,’ _ bitterness swells and sits heavy on his tongue, and Tommy can’t find it in himself to fight that very same bitterness.

He doesn’t  _ want _ too.

Not anymore.

And even now, it’s not like he can run away back to Business Bay! The others would  _ immediately _ look there first, and Dream might even kill his friends to get to him.

He wouldn’t allow that.

Like  _ hell _ he’d allow that!

But the fact is, is that if Dream (or god forbid Techno or Phil) come to the Bay while he’s  _ there, _ they’d  _ absolutely _ declare war, or just kill his friends just to get to him.

…

Okay maybe not Phil, but Phil doesn’t take “no” for an answer, and he probably wouldn’t even care all that much because he would just find Tommy, give him to Dream, and wipe his hands clean of the boy he raised since he was a toddler, rushing back to his precious  _ Technoblade, _ without a care for his son.

His  _ blood related son. _

God knows that Tommy isn’t ever going to come first for anyone.

Not Techno.

Not Wilbur.

Not Tubbo.

And  _ sure as fuck _ not  **_Philza motherfucking Minecraft._ **

(To be fair, he’s  _ never _ been first. And perhaps its better that way, less chance of getting hurt.  _ ‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ _ Tommy tells himself alone at night, beneath the twinkling stars, upon his cobble tower.)

**_(“Then why does it hurt so fucking bad still?” A part of him screams.)_ **

Storm orbs trail back go the white shulker, chest tight and head clouded in muddling thoughts, until one pops into the forfront of his mind and fucking  _ stays there, _ bright white against a sea of clouded brown and grey.

**_What if we used a portal?_ **

Tommy flickers sapphire orbs that, just for a second, brighten, at the thought, the _idea._ _‘I can use the ender eyes,’_ he mused, head tilted, _‘I… I can use the eyes and find a_ ** _stronghold_** _.’_

While, yes, the ender portal is said to just lead to the end, there’s an  _ very _ old legend that tells of the portal, instead of a inky abyss with golden stars and a swirl of teal, having pastel yellows, bright oranges, and rich blues in its depths.

It’s said that to make it, you have to use 5 ender eyes, one pearl, a heart of the sea, and then sprinkle blaze powder through the rest.

Everyone just thought it was just that, a legend, and never tried to recreate it- said it was just make the entire stronghold explode.

But none of them have ever been desperate to get away.

None of them have ever felt this swirling,  _ swindling pain _ in their chest when they think of their supposed family.

None of them have been fucking  _ exiled _ by their best friend for what’s technically a minor issue that can easily be redeemed.

No one but Tommy.

And now that the seed’s been planted, it’s beginning to twist, grow and  _ flourish _ at an painstakingly quick pace. He sits up, chest burning with determination, and grabs his shulker boxes, pulls out his fishing rod, and relinquishes everything but the rod back in his inventory.

Eyes burn with determination.

_ ‘I will be  _ **_free._ ** _ ’ _ They say, burning like an azure inferno,  _ ‘I will be free and I will  _ **_win!_ ** _ ’ _

\---

“Well,” Tommy begins, stretching his sore muscles. He’d stayed by the shoreline, fishing up anything he could, for a good six hours, and came up with a pretty good haul of a couple stacks of salmon, pufferfish and cod- which were thrown into his shulker boxes and ender chest- as well as a single enchantment book for power 2. Seeing as he had to go looking for the Heart of the Sea, he decided that making a couple water breathing potions might be best for him long run.

So that’s what he’s doing.

Regular potions last three minutes, but he’s decided to use redstone and made them jump to eight minutes- just easier that way, he supposed.

So once it’s finished, Tommy breaks the brewing stands, and plucks the potions, strapping them to his belt (it’s made of leather, and rather crudly made at that, but it holds the potions and is fairly tight around his waist without falling off, and that’s all he cares about). He slings his fishing rod to his back, summons his boat, and leaves the little island with the sun high in the sky, rays beating down on his back in bright yellow and daunting orange.

“Can’t believe I have to find a fucking heart of the sea,” the blonde grumbles, paddling away at the water, it’s bullshit! Who the fuck even  _ wants _ a heart of the sea?

_ ‘Me apparently,’ _ he pouts, glancing into the water, trying to find some sort of shipwreck.

**_S H L I N G_ **

Pulling his head away from the stilled water, a trident barrels past his head, trimming stray golden tresses- said golden strings falling into the dark depths. Whipping his head towards the source, he’s met with the glowing turquoise eyes of a drowned, it’s form warped to adapt to the cold, salt water that had killed it in the first place.

Tommy winces, and hits it in the head with his paddle, bludgeoning it in the head, it’s eyes popping out.

“Gross.” Sticking his tongue out at the mere sight, he continues paddling through the vast, extensive ocean.

This might take a while…

\---

Well, Tommy wasn’t wrong when he said how annoying this damned quest would be- it took  _ a  _ **_week_ ** to find a stable, unbroken Heart of the Sea. A week that he had to ration his food, trying to save as much as possible, as well as his pearls.

Thankfully, he only wasted one pearl throughout the adventure, and that was because of a mob hoard, full of zombies, skeletons, and creepers had been gaining on him till he was at a cliff, and it was either pearl away and live another, painful day, or die. He chose to waste a pearl, and got far enough away that the mobs no longer chased him.

His stone sword broke though, he just had to mine a hole and sleep in the darkness, since he couldn’t fight.

_ The fact it lasted that long to begin with astounds him, honestly. _

That had been an…  _ interesting _ night.

(Plus, the fact that phantoms were gaining on his ass the entire time and trying to hit him off the cliff didn’t help either, little bastards.)

Still, he got the things he needed to make the portal (thank god he already had blaze rods, or this would fucking  _ suck. _ ), now all he had to do was find a stronghold.

Pulling out an ender eye, he tosses it in the air.

It lowers to his feet and hums, magic radiating off of its small, circular form, and Tommy cannot  _ believe _ his luck- a stronghold, right beneath him!

“DREAM, THIS WAY! THE COMPASS POINTS OVER HERE!”

His blood freezes at the bellowing call of Tubbo ( _ why is he here why is he  _ **_here?!_ ** _ ) _ , who is  _ way to fucking close for comfort, _ and quickly mines down, getting down far enough where he then replaced the blocks, and just kept digging down down  _ down _ until he hits the ground, chiseled stone beneath his fingertips.

His communicator beeps.

**_[Tommyinnit has made the achievement [Eye Spy].]_ **

_ “WHAT?!” _

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Quickly rushing through the maze of stone and iron bars, he ignores the groans and rattles of the various zombies and skeletons and jumps through a small slot opening that he quickly blocks with cobble.

Behind, he hears babbles of voices, more and more, and his communicator beeps again.

**_[Dream has made the achievement [Eye Spy].]_ **

**_[Tubbo has made the achievement [Eye Spy].]_ **

**_[Technoblade has made the achievement [Eye Spy].]_ **

**_[Sapnap has made the achievement [Eye Spy].]_ **

**_[Ranboo has made the achievement [Eye Spy].]_ **

“ _ FUCK!” _ He slides through another gape and hops down a flight of stairs, slamming into the bottom row and rolling to a stop, only to spring back up and  _ keep running. _

Hunger begins to wane, and so do his hearts, stopping at seven full hearts.

Distinctly, he hears the pounding of feet.

Of  _ various _ poundings of feet.

Five.

He has  _ five people, _ two of them being some of the best fighters in the fucking  _ world, _ on his tail, either trying to kill or capture him (for all he knows, it could be both).

_ Oh hell no! _

Skidding, he hops through a library and manages to find the end portal room.

He covers the library opening to the portal in oak wood, making it seem like it’s entirely natural (see, Tommy can be smart!), and pulls out his materials.

He sets four ender eyes (since one was already in), the soft clinking ringing in his ears like a siren, heart pounding against against his ribcage palpibal to anyone and everyone. He pulls out the blaze powder, sprinkling even amounts in each opening save two, gently sets the ender pearl in the hole, and carries the heart of the sea, the item that will either  _ make or break this, _ in his hand.

The oak wall breaks, shattered splinters bouncing off the stone, chiseled walls, and five figures storm inside, just as Tommy turns.

Five figures, all decked out in full netherite, swords and axes in hand and shields hanging off their arms.

All faces are set in stone, save one.

_ Ranboo. _

The teen, figure hanging over the others like a curtain of shadows, is  _ shivering, _ his eyes darting to the blue, sacred item clutched in his hands, as well as the portal sitting  _ oh so innocently _ behind him.

His eyes widen, recognition glittering in christmas-colored orbs, and Tommy just  _ knows _ that Ranboo knows what he’s doing.

What he’s  _ about _ to do.

And… Ranboo just stays quiet, not even  _ attempting _ to alert the others.

_ ‘Maybe I do have someone on my side,’ _ he muses faintly, narrowing storm blue orbs at the group.

Then Dream opens his  _ stupid fucking mouth, _ and Tommy  _ seethes. _

“Tommy,” his voice is soft, wary, and so full of hidden, bubbling  _ rage _ that, if Tommy were any weaker, would have made him  _ crumble, _ sputtering apologies and begging for forgiveness. “Why are you here? You  _ know _ the End is forbidden,  _ don’t you?” _

_ ‘Sometimes,’  _ Tommy thinks, lips thin and eyes sharp, _ ‘Dream reminds me of a lot of poison ivy. Looks pretty and friendly, but once you touch it, you’re forever stained and poisoned, left to die without treatment. And I…’ _

He clutches the artifact.

_ ‘...am getting  _ **_treatment_ ** _ dammit!’ _

“Yes, I do know,” he instead replies, shifting to have his hand hover over the gaping slot, bitterness and hatred heavy on his tongue, chest tight and heart hammering, “but I’ll be honest Dream… I just don’t fucking  _ care.” _

Even with the mask, he can see the blonde’s eyes turn from soft summer leaves to dark oak poison, mouth formed into a tight scowl at the blatant  _ defiance _ the teen before him continues to show.

Tubbo steps forward, sword clasped in hand, sharp and edge gleaming in the low light of the room’s lava, voice even yet slick with poison.

Just like Schlatt.

Just like that damned  _ dictator. _

“Tommy, come on, you didn’t even make the portal right and you’re  _ still _ trying to defy Dream, by going to the  _ End? _ ” He questions, ignoring the snickering of Dream and Sapnap at the poorly made portal, jabs hidden in whispers taken at the sacred entrance, “Come on now Toms, you can’t be  _ that dumb?” _

“And you can’t be that fucking stupid and blind to turn out just like Schlatt,” he shoots back, hand taut and trembling, “and yet,  _ here you fucking are Toby.” _

Tommy has never heard that much venom slip in his voice towards Toby-  _ when did he become  _ **_Toby?_ ** _ - _ and frankly, the boy before him apparently hasn’t either, if his stumble back is anything to be considered.

Breathing, Tommy etches closer to the unopened gateway, artifact shaking, “‘Ya know, I used to think that everyone here was worth fighting for,” he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard. Honestly, he could have whispered and it would have sounded like a bellowing scream, but who the hell care at this point?  _ Sure as hell not Tommy. _ “Worth fighting and  _ dying _ for, and that’s how I saw my discs too. They weren’t powerful, but they meant a lot to me because they were all I had of my mom. My  _ dead  _ mom.”

Technoblade flinches at the mention of Kristen.

“And now?” He pulls the plastic vinyl- Cat- out of his inventory, staring at it for a few seconds, then tosses it into the lava bubbling below, “They mean  **_nothing._ ** And ‘ya know what?”

They stare, eyes wide, and he stares back, chest bubbling something  _ fierce. _

“You wanted me gone?” The whisper echoes through the corridor, “You wanted me dead? No longer in your lives?  _ Forgotten?” _

Silence echoes through the room, and Ranboo  _ trembles. _

That same silence is all the answers that Tommy needs.

“You know Toby…” his fri-  _ former _ friend snaps his head up, crystal orbs shaking and sword clattering, “a wise man once said something to me, and I always thought he was a liar, but turns out he was right. Said something so powerful, so utterly  _ crazy, _ that I didn’t think it was true.”

Blonde hair tilts teasingly, storm orbs glowing with a rekindled strength.

“...Do you want to know what he said, Toby?”

Shaking his head, tears rip down Tubbo’s face, a steady stream of heartbreak and fear.

The tall teen stares at the group before him, clasped in enchanted, glowing netherite, and  _ smiles, _ dropping the heart.

The world slows around them.

**_“It was never meant to be.”_ **

The heart clinks against the opening, a sharp sound against the silence.

_ And suddenly his world  _ **_explodes_ ** _ into color, hands gripping and pulling him back back  _ **_back_ ** _ to the portal as a raging storm, bellowing thunder and whipping winds, thum in his ears. _

To where he belonged.

To where he would thrive.

To where he would be  **_free._ **

The storm bellows in his ears again, red blistering clouds sticking to his skin, and the world falls to black.

\---

Deep in the rolling hills, a small creature raises its head, ears twitching as the wind howls and the air  _ crackles. _

“Pika?”

\---

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Cratered Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first, there was Hatred.
> 
> Then there was Disgust.
> 
> And then Disbelief.
> 
> Then Denial.
> 
> Acceptance.
> 
> And Joy.
> 
> \---
> 
> OR: Tommy is found by an old wizened Nurse who decides that, this hurt child right here? Hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Making a plot-relevant OC???? Always.
> 
> Anyway I hope ya'll like this lady, as I sure do. Short chapter, but then again, my chapters are about 1k to 2k on average, tops- the 4k prologue was a little gift for yall.
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy, and tell me which Pokemon should be on Tommy's team! I'd love to hear suggestions! I have them chosen already, but nearing the end, I will add 3 more Pokemon, so let's hear those suggestions you guys!

\---

Jane Joy awoke in Turffield at approximately seven am, and slowly got out of her comfy warm bed, yawning loudly and squinting at the harsh, sunny rays that peek through her thick, white blinds.

Her Pokemon- a male Indeedee, Delcatty, Ivysaur, and her infamous Wigglytuff respectively- awake too, yawning and stretching, and shaking their heads tiredly, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

Delcatty meows, blinking up at her owner only to yowl and hiss at the window, fur ruffled and sticking up.

Jane squints, narrowing basil orbs at her beloved feline, and tilts her head towards her window, long crepe colored locks falling into her face, wrinkles deepening in worry.

Latching at the blinds, she opens them-

Only to be met with a frantic, babbling Pikachu.

“PI PIKA PI CHU PI CHAKA!” It rambles, shaking it’s head and slapping it’s tiny, golden paws against the window, pointing back towards the fields, “CHU PIKACHU KA!”

The 50-something year old woman stares blankly at the Mouse Pokemon for a few seconds, causing it to ramble even further, slapping it’s against the pane again, and tilts her head to Indeedee, who stands beside her, bewildered as she was but also a look of concern on his face, “Indee, what is he saying?”

_‘He’_ because Jane has been a nurse long enough to know for a _goddamn fact_ that the Pokemon before her is _not_ a female- the tail would be curved otherwise.

**_‘He says that there is an injured human out in the field,’_ ** the Emotion Pokemon answers, mind synchronized with his mistress’s own- a special little ability he found years ago and has continued to be invaluable for their practices- to deliver the important news. The Pikachu babbles a bit more, and his brow creases, worry written all across his muzzle, **_‘He also says he proably isn’t that much older than your assistant nurse- if not, a bit younger.’_ **

Yeah, Jane won’t lie- that is _really_ fucking worrying because her assistant is her _eighteen year old daughter._

And if there is a wounded teenager out there, then she needs to go.

Like, _right now._

Basil orbs turn to steel, and she nods to the frantic Pokemon before her, voice levelled but stern, “Let me get my things and call the center, and when I step outside, you are _immediately_ to me to this child, understand?”

It wasn’t a request, but instead, a demand.

And, apparently, the rodent before her could understand her well enough to hear the steel promise of pain for defiance, and nodded it’s head sporadically, ear twitching and swaying uneasily on the windowsill.

Shaking her head, Jane turn towards Delcatty and narrows her eyes, “Get me Milo, and do it _immediately!”_ Straightening, the normal-type nods her head, and bolts out of the room, slipping through the house and rushing outside to the stadium, thin paws galloping towards the towering structure.

“Wiggly, get me my supplies, Ivy, grab some berries, Indee, stay here and keep the Pikachu semi calm,” she orders, pulling out a pair of tights, “I need to put on some pants, then we can leave.”

The Pokemon stumble around, grabbing the necessary items, and Jane is stricken by how utterly _familiar_ this all is.

(It should be, she’s done this her entire life, but somehow _this_ specific situation feels _different_ somehow.)

~~_(She doesn’t like the sense of foreboding in the air, nor the lead lying in her stomach.)_ ~~

Slipping on the pants, as well as some boots, she grabs her leather satchel and slings it across her body, and gestures towards her Rotom Phone, voice soft yet so full of frigid stone that it would make hardened veterans _tremble,_ “Call Koral, I want a sterilized room set up _stat._ ”

The Rotom beeps, already calling her daughter, and Jane slides out of the room, grabbing her cane on the way to the door. All three of her Pokemon stand at the doorway, and she pushes them out to meet the Pikachu- which is _still_ babbling. Poor thing’s throat must be _sore as bloody hell_ at this point- that waves its hands sporadically, ears twitching and cheeks sparking nervously.

Jane stands to attention, back straight and cane slamming against the ground, eyes sharp and full of untapped _strength,_ “Show us to them.”

Pikachu does just that, zipping off towards the fields, and the group follows after, bounding through the yellow, rolling hills and grey brick walkways, mindfully batting at the wild Pokemon that jump into their path (Jane will hates Galarian Meowth, and the fact that Ivy grabs a particularly fierce one and _chucks it_ into the trees is so hilarious that if she weren’t busy with a task, Jane would _laugh)_ and continuing on, keeping track of the bold, babbling Pikachu.

He brings them before a hedge and enters carefully, crowing pitifully, “Chuu….”

Poking her head through, Jane enters and almost drops her cane, eyes wide and abstract _horror_ filling her body like poison.

A crater lies before her, a good five feet deep, ground gorged and _twisted,_ trees broken and warped around it (faintly, she can feel true, overwhelming _power_ crackle in the air, and her hair stands on end as her chest _quakes)._

And in the middle of it all, a teen in a pair of torn jeans and tattered shirt, no shoes, and just about _covered_ in blood and grime. Warm blood dribbles down his leg into his wet, crimson socks, a thick branch punctured _through_ his left thigh, his exposed arms covered in burns and scars.

Blood trails down his face sluggishly, gold tresses sticking to his head and turning a deep carrot color.

**_‘....Is he alive?’_ ** Indee steps closer cautiously, face stricken with horror and worry, **_‘Mistress, is he alive?!’_ **

“I-I… I-I don’t…”

The boy’s hand twitches, and that’s all Jane needs to get moving, sliding down into the crater with an ease that should _not_ befit her at her old age, and falls to her knees beside the young male, ignoring the mud and dirt pressing against her leggings.

Pressing her fingers against his neck, she waits, mentally counting to three, and heaves in relief when a pulse bubbles beneath her fingers.

Not a strong one, mind you, but she’ll take what she can get.

“Indee, I need you to use Psychic and carry this kid!” She orders, “Ivy, keep your vines beneath him in case of an emergency catch! Wiggly, Pikachu, keep the other wild Pokemon _the bloody fuck_ away from us!”

**_‘RIGHT AWAY MISTRESS!’_ ** Her medical partner straightens his back, eyes turning blue, and the child before her _floats._

She isn’t letting a kid, barely into his teens, fall prey to death’s clutches.

_Not again._

\---

Waking to the sound of a constant beep that pops in and out pretty much every other second isn’t the type of thing you would _normally_ wake up too.

But damn, when has Tommy been _normal?_

( _‘Once’_ a part of him whispers into the cooling space, voice his own but tone so akin to ~~_Dream’s_~~ own sugary flounders that it almost makes him _physically ill, ‘you were_ **_once_ ** _normal.’_ )

(If Tommy tells his brain to shut up and it just laughs at him, can anyone really blame the hurt he feels inside?)

_~~(Man this trauma’s got him all kinds of fucked up huh?)~~ _

Storm orbs creak open, only to shut themselves ten times quicker at the bright, overbearing light above him. A gasp echoes through the room, and something clatters to the floor as small, quick clicks (heels?) fall out of the room, a sharp cry echoing through the building.

“MOTHER MOTHER! HE’S AWAKE!”

“Wha…?” Eyes slowly adjust to the light, and Tommy moves just the _slightest_ bit.

And _oh man,_ does that fucking _hurt._

It hurts enough that it tore a _wail_ from his throat, body shuddering and rolling in pain, spasms wrecking through his body like netherite through the undead skin of a zombie.

Hands- withered, old, calloused yet so utterly **_warm_ ** \- brush against his face and hair, smoothing it down as a soft, feminine voice whispers in his ears (he couldn’t understand the words and, quite frankly, _he didn’t want too)_ sweet nothings that he can bring himself to comprehend.

Minutes pass, and so does the pain.

Tommy opens his eyes again (when did they close?), and clouded sapphires meets concerned, shaded basil.

And the world _spins._

\---

Beyond Galar, hidden beneath a facility, a heart _beats._

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys,,, your comments, give me your feedback,,, it fuels me p l z,,,,
> 
> Edit: there were a few misspellings so I went and fixed those as well as made a FUCKING CHAPTER NAME.


	3. Nurse's Lounge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Tommy talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that's 1.6k words.
> 
> Also art at the end of the chapter.

\---

Awakening a second time hours later, Tommy grasps at the piping, porcelain cup in hand, thick dribbles of tea sluggishly swaying in the cup, and stares down the old woman before him, eyes narrow.

Unlike anyone he’s ever seen, Jane (as she told him to call her) has long, greying pink hair- sure, Techno has pink hair, but he’s a  _ hybrid, _ meaning he’s kinda exempt from the “never before seen hair color” due to his lineate. The woman in front of him is  _ entirely _ human- and ivory, spotted skin. Her hair, tied into large, soft loops hangs behind her, only jostling when he drinks her tea, her nurse uniform untouched and clean. She’s older too- older than even Phil-, based on the defined age lines on her face.

Outside the room, beyond the glass, Tommy can see Jane’s assistant- another pink haired woman, this one a deep, rich color that heavily reminds him of pink terracotta, her skin darker and eyes seeming more like a chocolate brown than Jane’s own leaf-colored ones.

“So,” the woman begins, setting down her cup, “what is your name young man?”

“...Tommy.”

Eyes soften at the hesitance, and she shakes her head sadly, “I mean full name, young one.”

“...” Hands twisting around the porcelain cup, Tommy licks his dried lips, a metal twang on his tongue, and answers. “Thomas Craft, ma’am...”

“Interesting name,” she muses, leaning back. Her hands make a series of gestures, and the woman outside nods, leaving the window and heading down the hallway, “are you from Galar?”

“...The fuck is Galar?”

The room  _ freezes, _ and basil orbs narrow in consideration, staring into his own pair of stormy blues with  _ something _ strong on her face- disbelief? Bafflement? Tommy doesn’t know what it is, but it seems like some sort of emotion akin to those two.

Jane opens her mouth, eyes still narrowed dangerously, and Tommy can feel the air  _ shift. _ “Galar is the region you are in right now? Are you from one of the others? Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos, or Alola? Or perhaps even the Orange Archipelago, Sevii Islands, Orre, Fiore, Almia, Oblivia, Ransei, Ferrum, or even Pasio?”

The blonde stares blankly at her. “I’m… I don’t know  _ any _ of those places…”

Her brow furrows in confusion, head tilted, “Well, you would have heard of at least  _ Unova _ if you were from the Decolore Isles, so you can’t be from there… child, where is your home?”

“L’Manburg.”

The brow furrows further, “There isn’t a place called L’Manburg here, dear.”

“Of course there is!” He argues, jostling, “I’m from the esemble! Essempi!”

“...There isn’t any places called that, dear.” Shaking her head, she taps her cane on the floor, and  _ stares _ at him thoroughly, “Tommy, what do you remember?”

He opens his mouth, but pauses, running over his memories. He remembers… a bad person in green, a man in grey saving him, fire (lots and  _ lots _ of fire), a revolution with… people, some music, crying as his surroundings explode, an absolute, sinister crunching in his chest as he watches the people around him turn red or disappear and… running away. He can remember some prior things vividly, like his best friends Deo, Luke and Bitz, but…

Not anything else.

Like mobs? Sure, he can remember the endermen, creepers, skeletons and zombies, but  _ people? _

He… he can’t remember  _ people _ for some reason- nor their fucking  _ names. _

**_Why can’t he remember their names?_ **

His chest  _ heaves, _ and Tommy feels like he’s going to fucking  _ break- _ like he’s forgetting  _ so many _ important things and his chest  _ hurts. _

**_God_ ** _ does his chest hurt. _

His bed dips, and wrinkled fingers weave through gold tresses, a soothing hum echoing in his ears, and his pillow (what pillow? When did he get a pillow?) rumbling something  _ fierce _ in his ears, heart rattling in his chest from the intensity.

It felt nice. Made him feel… warm.

_ Safe. _

_ ‘It’s nice,’ _ he thinks to himself, pressing deeper into the rumbling as hands weave out of his hair and instead encircle themselves around him tightly, body swaying to some sort of song he just doesn’t know and doesn’t  _ care _ to know or learn.

He just want’s to  _ listen. _

“It’s okay Tommy,” the woman hums, eyes closed and cheek pressed against the crown of his head, “you don’t have to remember child, I’m sorry. Just better, okay? I’m sorry.”

“...Okay.”

He doesn’t want to remember their names anyway.

He just…

He just  _ doesn’t. _

Maybe later, but not now.

His chest feels to heavy right now, full of lead yet breathy, like he’s being crushed beneath the weight of memories, of actions he doesn’t even  **remember.**

_ ‘This feeling sucks,’ _ he muses, nuzzling into the nurses warm, strong arms.  _ ‘This feeling sucks real fuckin’ bad.’ _

**_He hates this._ **

“Though, Tommy, I have one question in turns of remembering…” Jane pulls away a bit, staring into the younger male’s face, her own set into a warm, worried frown, “do you remember what a Pokemon is?”

“...The fuck is a Po-kay-mon?”

\---

“How bad is it?” Koral asks, frantic, as soon as her mother steps out of the room and shuts the door, “Is he okay?!”

“He’ll be fine dear… maybe,” Jane breathes, running a hand through her bangs, ignoring the sharp hiss of  _ “MAYBE?!” _ . “He’s a bit fucked up, Koral, I won’t lie. He obviously was abused and neglected, and seems to have selective amnesia of some kind.”

Her son- Turffield’s own Gym Leader- steps up, his Eldegoss plopped upon his shoulder and rubbing her head against his face, cooing, “How so mum?”

“Well for one, he doesn’t remember faces, names or places,” she muses, tapping the spiraling oak cane against the floor, “or, if he does, he replaces the names with something else- like calling his former town “L’Manburg” or his country “Essempi”. Not only that… but he has  _ no recollection _ of Pokemon  _ whatsoever!” _

The others wince at that, shooting the boy in the room a look of pity. “Nothing?” Koral questions, pressing a hand against her chest, shoulders hunched. Her Minccino chitters, pressing their face against their mistress’s cheek, but it does little to calm her growing anxiety and distress.

“Nothing,” Jane affirms, shaking her head.

Milo frowns, glancing at his younger sister, “Koral, didn’t you run his name through the international system? Did you find anything?”

She shakes her head, chocolate eyes disturbed with her pupils blown, “N-No, nothing. There’s no “Thomas Craft” in the system  _ anywhere- _ not even in  _ Orre! _ And I don’t think he’s lying about his name…”

“He’s being honest,” Jane mused, rubbing her chin, “Indee confirmed in through psychic transmission- Tommy is and has been entirely honest with us so far.”

“Which means, if there isn’t a Thomas Craft, he might’ve come through long-term teleportation… wasn’t there a huge storm that completely wiped out a small island near Unova?” The pink-haired males asked, tilting his head. Eldegoss coos, swinging nervously upon his wide shoulder, and he pats her head.

“There was,” Jane admits, remember seeing the news, “but it  _ can’t  _ be that.”

Her daughter narrows her eyes, and crosses her arms, “Why not?”

“Because long distance teleportation uses a  _ huge _ amount of psychic energy, enough that any Pokemon in the area would have scattered as soon as it touched the air. Indee would have let me  _ know _ if there was such power in the air, but there’s  _ nothing!” _

Ah.

Yeah, they suppose that’s a good point.

The family quiets, processing the information, when Koral shoots her head up, snapping her fingers as if she just got a great idea, “Hey, what about wormholes? If this ‘L’manburg’ place doesn’t exist here, maybe it exists in another dimension!”

“Isn’t that stretching it a little  _ too _ far, Kors?” The older man asks decisively, crossing his arms with furrowed brows, expression set into one of puzzlement.

“Not really,” she answers, shrugging, “Alola recently got a huge surge of wormholes, and I’ve seen one or two open just outside Galar borders- whose to say that this time we got one  _ inside _ our borders? If you don’t believe me, there’s actual documentation of all of these events- look if up!”

Minccino bobs their head agreeingly, chittering softly, tail swiping in the air.

Humming, the nurse glances back into the room, at the boy who flips through a book on Pokemon, amazement glittering in his eyes at the various creatures (she’d let him use it after he had shown no knowledge of the ancient, powerful creatures) displayed in the various photos. Lips purse in thought, and Jane rubs her chin in thought, humming again, “Well, he obviously doesn’t know his way around Galar, and I don’t particularly feel comfortable letting a mere  _ child _ go out with almost no knowledge of the entities that populate our society.”

Eyes trail back to the teen, his gold-spun hair bouncing as he laughs, and her heart softens.

“...I’ll be taking him with me,” she decides, closing her eyes, “I can file the paperwork to become his temporary guardian, shouldn’t be that hard. Best get to it then… Milo, be a dear and make some curry, would you? I have work to do.”

And with that, Jane leaves the two be, stumbling through the hallway to her office.

Milo and Koral glance at each other again, and split off- Milo towards the kitchen ( _ ‘I wonder if he’ll like sausage curry…’ _ ), and Koral towards the front desk, heels clicking against the marble titles.

Behind them, a Pikachu sits atop a metal cart, staring at the child that fell from the sky.

Staring at the laughing, awed child.

Staring at his aura- a bright, warm little thing.

Staring at the spiraling crimson cloud tattoo along his left hand, it’s ridges glowing faintly in the dying light.

His chest tugs at the glow- at the  _ feeling- _ , and he  _ knows. _

This trainer… this  _ boy… _

Is  **_his._ **

\---

[Tommyinnit Pokemon Clothing I drew!](https://delomaniaofficial.tumblr.com/post/641968047619506176/trainer-autommyinnit-outfits-i-made)

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments... i love them... p l e a s e.
> 
> Also artwork link above lol uwu


	4. Pretty Pog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heard yall wanted pokemon interactions, so here ya go :)

\---

The sun is said to be a symbol of power.

Of flourished life, hanging beneath it’s roaring rays, a blistering warmth that plagues the planet even in the harshest of tundra's.

A symbol of companionship, and trust- heat interlocking to create something warm, combating the cold that plagues the rest of the world. A protection against evil, some would say.

And as Pikachu stares at the boy hidden behind the glass, bandaged hands slipping page against page, ink against ink, he finds it’s an accurate representation of the warmth that surrounds him, a string of aura brushing against the boy’s own and  _ shivering _ in anticipation at the potential bond.

The kid is warm- like a kindling light, a lantern- but not blistering hot.

Not an inferno.

Not a wildfire that eats and eats and  _ eats _ away at the mass around them.

His ears twitch anxiously, and with a final brush of aura, he slips past the doorway and into the room, towards the child that has his instincts  _ screaming _ to protect (brokenkinmustsavemustprotectprotectprotect **protect).**

Paws drag against the marble tiles, and with a small chittering of  **_“Hey”_ ** , chestnut brown and sapphire blue meet.

Something in Pikachu’s chest tightens, heart hammering against his ribcage.

On his neck, the cloud tattoo that marks his fur burns  _ red. _

\---

When Tommy had finished speaking with Jane about Pokemon (if not for her releasing one of her Pokemon, a Wigglytuff, from it’s sphere-like confines, he wouldn’t have believed her at all), he’d been baffled and awed, which only increased when she handed him a book on various kinds of Pokemon that Galar- the region he currently resides in- carries in its borders.

Charizard.

Eevee.

Gastrodon.

Frosmoth.

Noivern.

All amazing Pokemon, with interesting looks that still tell those that look at them  _ what they are. _ But his chest- his  _ heart- _ pulls when he discovers a specific little line of electric mice that leaves him all fuzzy and warm.

**_‘Pichu Line - The Thunder Mice’_ **

**_‘Pichu’_ **

**_‘Pikachu’_ **

**_‘Raichu’_ **

**_‘Introduction:_ ** _ There is absolutely no doubt about it; Pikachu is famous. As one of the most widely distributed electric types in the world, and with fame both in and out of battle alongside its adorably cute looks, Pikachu and its evolutions are beloved amongst the entire world. It’s line is known for its speed and acute power, commanding electricity with incredible skill. The Pichu Line is one of the most well documented Pokemon in the world, both in a human’s care and in the wild, and many of trained Pikachu to specifically keep society running. _ **_’_ **

**_‘Description:_ ** _ The Pichu line is, and always has been, insanely bright colored- it is a way to keep predators away by letting them know that if they come close, they will likely be shocked. The brightly colored spots on the cheeks of all three evolutions are known to be where the electrical glands are stored- these glands also dictate how healthy the Pokemon is based on color and saturation.’ _

_ ‘Electricity generation is complicated in Pokemon on the best of days, and many species use unique methods to gather, produce and channel the various sources of electricity. Pikachu use the most common method through specialized cells it carries called electrocytes, which help generate and store electricity. They are special nerve cells that are entirely separate from Pikachu’s Central Nervous System, to what has commonly been described and documented as the Voltron Nervous System.’ _

_ ‘The most magnetically, electric-sensitive organs on a Pikachu and its brethren are the electrical sacs that reside on its cheeks, and the grounding nerves inside its tail.’ _

_ ‘Electricity can be pooled into the whole of the Pichu line’s bodies in a make-shift form of Agility, in order to heighten their speed, though the younger the specimen the more dangerous this is.’ _

_ ‘Raichu, Pikachu’s evolution, is a rodent-like mammal that-’ _

**_“Hey.”_ **

Tommy freezes, and snaps his head over to the side of his bed where the voice resides, and doubletakes at what stands before him.

A Pikachu.

An honest to Ender, real life  _ Pikachu. _

It looks a  _ tiny _ bit different from the one in the book- its tail is has a little tuff of hair at the end, as well as on it’s forehead, and it’s ears aren’t tipped black, but instead a very dark brown- but all in all it’s still a  _ fucking Pikachu. _

Tommy blinks, “...Hi.”

(He ignores the flashing of red beneath his bandages, thinking its just his wounds acting up.)

_ (It’s not.) _

Grinning, the small yellow rodent shoots up and plops itself on his bed, laying down, form reminisce of a cat doing the famed cat loaf (he will not laugh he will not laugh he will  _ not-) _ , mouth pulled in a pleased grin,  **_“Hi Tommy, nice to see you’re up!”_ **

“...How the  _ fuck _ do you know my name?!”

**_“I listened to the elder,”_ ** it- no,  _ he- _ snorts, swiping its lightning shaped tail against the bed,  **_“and you can understand me? That’s a first! Never met a human that can understand Pokemon before!”_ ** He chirps, smiling cheerfully at the human before him.

Tommy blinks again, staring at the small rodent, “...You can’t be serious.”

**_“Nope, totally am!”_ ** Pikachu smiles, swaying,  **_“Only psychics can communicate with humans, and even then it’s rare! So for a human to just understand our language is practically unheard of!”_ **

“Oh,” he swipes his hand- burningburningburning **burning-** against the leather cover, and swindles himself further into his pillow, pressing his face against the soft material, form hunched and curled into a ball on its side.

Pikachu patters forward and sits beside his head, tail pressed again the back of his neck, the baby hairs pricking up at the natural static the small mouse projected.

**_“So,”_ ** He curls, and  _ smiles _ at the human boy, ears twitching- high and alert yet so  _ fuckin’ _ adorable-  **_“are you doing any better?”_ **

“Mhm…” How long has he been awake? Must’ve been a while, his eyes burn against closed lids- a telling sign that kept them open too long, “fine…”

**_“Oh, okay, just making sure!”_ ** Tommy honestly can’t tell if the Pikachu understands he just doesn’t want to  _ talk, _ or if he’s just naive.

Either way, he’ll take it.

**_“Oooh, hey Tommy!”_ ** “Mm?”  **_“Wanna hear the time my siblings and I accidentally stumbled upon Bewear territory?”_ **

He smiles, and nods, leaning further into the pillow.

The mouse brightens- if that’s even  _ possible- _ and chitters away cheerfully, ears twitching and cheeks sparking,  **_“Okay okay! So, it was my sisters and I, playing in the forest on the edge of town…”_ **

Tommy falls the longer the story goes on, and within the hour, he’s snoozing away, Pikachu curled into the small of his back, purring softly, basking in the warmth of the human.

_ His _ human.

Beneath layers of bandages, a tattoo flashes.

Beneath layers of concrete, metal and rock, slit pearl orbs peek through it’s crimson casing, staring down the man before it for a few long seconds, falling back into its deep slumber once more.

\---

Less than a week later, Tommy is in Motostoke beside Milo and Koral, Pikachu perched atop his shoulder, glaring at the crowds ahead of them.

His injuries had healed enough that he could walk around normally- on the term that he take his pain medication at least once a day-, and even leave the hospital! Though, based on Jane’s motherly expressions, he wouldn’t be leaving Turffield anytime soon.

So, since the boy had literally almost  _ nothing _ save the clothes on his back and a worn bag, he was driven to the closest boutique and shoved inside to look for clothing.

Now, of course he couldn’t wear his old clothes- those were destroyed beyond repair, sadly. Wilbur’s jacket, however, shockingly survived-, or anything ratty, so Milo had given him an oversized sweater with a black tank top to wear underneath, and a pair of jeans and some old boots that  _ somehow _ fit.

(Also, now that he’s actually  _ standing, _ Tommy is  _ extremely _ intimidated at Milo and Koral’s sheer  _ height. _ Koral is a tall woman at six foot two- just an inch taller than Tommy himself- but Milo is fucking  _ huge. _ Like, six foot eight huge. It’s  _ bullshit. _ Tommy feels like a fucking  _ child _ compared to the man!)

Despite his gripes about being shoved inside, Tommy  _ can _ admit that the clothing feels nice against his skin- he usually only wears his one shirt brand because its the  _ only _ thing that doesn’t scratch uncomfortably against his skin-, and he riffles through a few shirts, Pikachu still on his shoulder, humming.

“What’d ya think about this, bud?” He pulls out a white shirt with a yellow stitching across the neckline and sleeves, “Looks good, right?”

**_“Yeah it does, but look at this!”_ ** Pikachu chitters appreciatively, nodding, and points at a periwinkle, turtleneck sweater- it looked a lot like Ghostbur’s, if only without the blue blood and different color scheme.  **_“It’s a sweater! It would look great with that one leather overcoat you have!”_ **

“Ooh,” he swipes the oversized cloth, noting the stretchy, soft yet sturdy material, “good eye!” Tommy testingly stretches the fabric a bit, beaming, “This is a pretty pog sweater, not gonna like. I like it! Let’s get it!”

**_“...What did you say?”_ **

He pauses, glancing at his companion, quirking a brow questioningly, “What, that we’re getting it?”

**_“No.”_ ** The mouse shakes his head,  **_“That one word, ‘Pog’. What does that mean?”_ **

“Uh…” He blinks, “I guess… I guess the right definition for it is ‘awesome’? Or something close to that. Why?”

**_“Because I’m making it my name now.”_ ** Was the definitive answer.

“I-  _ what?” _

Pikachu- no,  _ Pog _ grins at his owner, tail twitching and cheeks sparking,  **_“Tommy, you can just call me Pog now! Imagine me, a Raichu, with a name like Pog! Doesn’t that sound cool?”_ **

Silence rings between the two, and Tommy smiles, amused, just as he sets the sweater down.

“Pfft, yeah, sounds pretty poggers bud. Sounds pretty fuckin’ poggers.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The info in this chapter is heavily inspired by the fanfic "A Zoological Guide to Pokemon", great fic i tell ya.
> 
> Also have a redbubble now! Im sharing it to my tumblr soon, so check that out! Also you can talk to me there too, I love to interact with yall!!!!! Any questions and I'll answer.


End file.
